


is this really the boldest stroke you can make?

by cyclothimic



Category: The Half of It (2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Aster went to college and became really sure, Ellie went to college and let her freak flag fly, F/F, Future Fic, Gen, Paul's still a sweetheart, Reunions, Romance, School Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24164542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyclothimic/pseuds/cyclothimic
Summary: "I saw some of your art showings. Never would have pegged you for an erotic artist though.""It’s called a specialization in the abstract of the female form, thank you very much.""Guess you’re sure now, huh?”-or Ellie and Aster meet again five years later at a school reunion, and they're both really good at they do.
Relationships: Ellie Chu & Paul Munsky, Ellie Chu/Aster Flores, Paul Munsky/Original Character(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 462





	is this really the boldest stroke you can make?

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to my attempt at predicting the future for my favorite movie ever. BAR NONE. oh my god, i can't get it out of my head.

_Love isn't patient, and kind, and humble. Love is messy, and horrible, and selfish, and…bold. Love is not finding your perfect half; it's the trying, and reaching, and failing. Love is being willing to ruin your good painting, for a chance of a great one._

_-Leah Lewis as Ellie Chu, The Half of It_

* * *

Squahamish was about as squeamish as it sounded. The train station was the train station; the booth was repainted and her father had gotten someone else to do the job, but it still looked like it was about to collapse at any time. Mrs. Geselschap was still teaching at the high school, and from what she'd heard, more morbid than ever.

And it wasn't like Ellie had never come back since she'd gone off to spread her wings at Grinnell College. She always came back, primarily for Chinese New Year, Tomb Sweeping Day, and Mid-Autumn. She always came back and saw her father, who'd eventually started to pick himself up again now that his daughter was never around to take of things. His accent was still there, but he got by. He even managed to make some friends after Paul had started dragging him out almost every day.

"Your dad's become our resident taster before we release anything," Paul had always told her whenever she came back.

But just because she always came back didn't mean she had learned to love it. Sure, it was her home; it had her father; it had her best friend; it had the train station; she didn't have other attachments to this town other than those things – perhaps that was why it remained squeamish in all the years that she'd definitively left and decided never to come back permanently.

It had already been five years since she'd left Squahamish to a liberal arts school – never would she stop being grateful that her very Asian father didn't oppose her decision to pursue the _arts_ ; heck, she could practically hear her ancestors rolling in their graves when she filled out the application form way back when. She now had a column in a Washington daily and had even written a book.

Things weren't so bad, all things considered.

"Ellie Chu!" Paul exclaimed when he entered the house without even knocking, startling her while she washed the dishes. But apparently, her father had gotten used to it, given that he didn't even react as he sat on his armchair and watched more of his late wife's favorite movies. "Hey, Mr. Chu!" he greeted with a big grin on his face, extending a fist in her direction.

The tap continued running, filling up the sink still teeming with dishes – Edwin had prepared an unprecedentedly cheerful meal for just the two of them, without a smile at all, but she got it. Still, she didn't pay it much attention as she just stared at her father and her best friend, prepared to laugh at Paul for even thinking about it.

Except she ended up kind of choking on air and dropping the utensils she had been washing into the sink. Edwin had looked at the extended fist, then at Paul's anticipatory expression, and he bumped the fist lightly with his own, lips twitching. She blinked at the scene before her, as Paul drew his own back and made an exploding motion.

"What the fuck?" she whispered.

As if he could hear her in the distance, Paul looked up again, that big grin never leaving his face. Typical Paul. He bumbled – definitely the descriptor to describe his awkward movements – over to her, throwing an arm around her shoulders and jostling pretty much _everything_. She was never going to get the dishes done at this rate.

"Ellie Chu!" he exclaimed again.

She winced but smiled anyway. "Inside voice, Paul," she admonished.

"I brought taco sausage."

"Oh, that's still a thing?"

"That was a thing the last time you came back, which was just last month, excuse me. It's only logical that it's a thing now."

"I didn't know you're capable of being logical."

"I figured out you're in love with Aster, didn't I?"

She shut off the tap with one wet hand and covered his mouth with another wet hand, causing him to squirm and yelp, which made Edwin turn to them with curiosity. But he soon turned back to the television when he realized it was only his two favorite people being themselves, though he would never admit that Paul had become one of his favorite people.

She jerked when he licked her palm, but it wasn't like her hand wasn't wet already or she wasn't used to his shenanigans. In fact, she only glared him from behind her glasses, cocking her brows for good measure. The glare must've worked, as he simply rolled his eyes and nodded, pointing a finger to the stairs. She nodded in return and released him.

He made a show of fighting for air and panting exaggeratedly. She just shook her head at him, placed a kiss on her father's cheek, and went upstairs, expecting Paul to just keep up.

"I'm pretty sure your dad knows you're gay. In fact, I'm very sure because you called me crying like a happy baby at two in the morning the night you came out to him."

"Happy babies don't cry," she replied and crossed her arms. "I don't wanna…shove it in his face," she said softly, clenching her jaw at the truth that she was still tiptoeing around her father about the subject of her sexuality even though she'd come out to him three years ago.

Five years ago, she'd stepped on a train and went all the way to Iowa for a liberal arts school. And college had been…invigorating. Refreshing. Everything was new and unseen. Unfamiliar state of being, Ellie realized she had become when she alighted from the train with her two huge duffels and the empty cooler that used to be filled with potstickers.

Iowa wasn't a big state, especially not in comparison with states like New York or, where she came from, DC. When she looked at the map, she could barely recognize Iowa. She could have easily chosen to go to a college in Washington as she'd planned, maybe a little farther than she'd initially strategized, but her father's voice echoed in her head. Squahamish was an unrecognizable town in Washington, but it was time to get out – Iowa was a better place than any, and it was certainly livelier than Squahamish.

At first, she hadn't been sure she was going to cope, really. She wasn't used to the place, the commute, the lack of a bike to take her anywhere she wanted, the _people_. There had been no train station booth for her to sit – _hide_ , her mother admonished in her mind – in. Writing essays for other people was perhaps no longer a viable side job.

There was no testing out Paul Munsky's sausages.

She didn't know how wrong she'd been. Iowa may not be Washington, Grinnell was certainly no high school, except everything was so refreshing that Ellie kind of found herself loving it more than Squahamish. Then again, she supposed anyone would love anywhere more than Squahamish, except maybe Trig.

In Iowa, she discovered herself. And two years later, she'd come home during Chinese New Year and blurted out her sexuality after having finished _The Maltese Falcon_ with her father. And surprisingly enough, Edwin had just stared at her for a long moment, so deadpan that she was so sure that he was ready to bring out the resident cane in every Asian house. Except then he just nodded with a small smile and told her that he'd make dumplings the next day for her to bring on the train ride.

Paul narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. "You know that you're gonna bring home a girlfriend to meet him eventually, right?"

"Maybe I can just be a spinster."

"You're too good at love letters to ever become a spinster."

"Emily Dickinson's a spinster."

He shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know who that is." She rolled her eyes and threw herself back on her bed, facing the ceiling with the creaky fan. "Are you excited about tomorrow?"

She groaned and closed her eyes. Paul had moved to remove her shoes while snickering. She let him, because she was too busy ignoring the way her heart violently fluttered at the mere mention of Aster Flores earlier.

...

Over the years, Ellie had taught herself to enjoy parties. It probably didn't hurt that a lot of parties at Grinnell were filled with people who were sort of on similar brainwaves as her, so it wasn't difficult to blend in. And she was all the more grateful that she had come out of her shell and attended the parties, because all of them together was definitely enough training for her to brave through this.

 _Welcome back, class of '20_ , read the loud banner hung above the entrance to the gym. Just like the town, the school hadn't changed much either. Still the rusty lockers, dusty hallways, and principal. She'd made sure to catch up with Mrs. Geselschap by arriving an hour earlier, not willing to let her favorite high school teacher go without giving her a signed book.

And now, here she was, leaning against the free bar and nursing a tumbler of whiskey – funny how the school just turned a blind eye against alcohol on the premises, as if she couldn't already spot a few seniors and juniors hanging around, pretending to be adults; poor kids, she lamented. Trig Carson, surprisingly, mellowed down from his previous eccentricity – oh, he still loved himself, definitely, but he'd also toned it down, thankfully.

She'd come with Paul, but apparently, her one guitar performance and ability to write other people's essays had turned out useful, because people greeted her, patted her back, and called her by her previous nickname affectionately. And she didn't even actually hate it.

But the thing was, despite everyone finally getting over the habit of teasing her and finally talking to her like an actual human being instead of the weird Asian who wrote fast, there was still something missing throughout it all. She refused to acknowledge exactly what was missing, because that would only prove that she hadn't gotten over the whole thing.

But the fact remained that she'd been here for over an hour and had already drunk two cans of beer and a tumbler of whiskey – and something was _still_ missing.

She gave up on staying in the gym, because if she continued staying, her eyes wouldn't stop searching, and she just couldn't have that. After telling Paul that she was heading out for some air, Ellie found herself wandering the quiet hallways, the thumping music muffled. She had her head down and her hands stuck in her pockets, refusing to look up and search for familiarity in the wandering high schoolers. And to think, she used to be one of them.

That was probably how she found herself running into one of those high schoolers and ungracefully falling on her ass, her phone toppling out of her pocket and knocking into a bottom locker. She hissed in pain and cursed at the boy who'd just run away – honestly, kids these days had no damn respect. She stayed on her back, blinking up at the ceiling and wondering at how pathetic she was.

Besides her breathing, her ears picked up on heels clicking on the linoleum, but it was probably just another one of her former classmates. She stayed there, halfway to deciding that the floor was actually pretty cool and nice to lie on. Paul could come out and fetch her when he was done mingling.

"These hallways are murder."

Well, speak of the devil. She didn't have to turn her head to know who her new companion was. After just a moment, Aster Flores emerged in her view from above, like a damn angel or something, dangling her phone between fingers, the same damn smile that caught Ellie's attention all those years ago in this very same hallway.

There was no need to look in the mirror to know that her eyes were wide and her shoulders were tense and her jaw slack, same as all those years ago. The only difference was that she'd pick up a better sense of fashion, like Harrington jackets and less layers and plain sweatshirts. She kept the glasses though; contact lenses were irksome.

She blinked at the still smirking Aster Flores and said, "I'm Ellie Chu."

At that, Aster laughed in a completely unbashful and kind of donkey-like way, but Ellie liked it. She'd liked it the first time she heard it at the hot spring. And then the girl – woman now, Ellie supposed – extended a hand towards Ellie with a nod.

"Yeah, I know."

...

See, college was fine and all – it was actually more than fine, if she was being honest. She still didn't believe in god, but she met people of her own kind, so to speak. Six months into Grinnell, she lost her virginity to her roommate's sister in their room while her roommate was cramming in the library. She shared kisses with some girls, dated some girls, even had casual sex with some girls. They were all pretty, sexy, smart, and fun.

But none of them were Aster Flores.

Ellie was Asian – not just that, she was _Chinese_ , which was worse – she was good at suppressing her emotions and feelings, and she wasn't going to explore what that meant. This was a one-night reunion party, and after tonight, everybody would be on their own way until five years later. There really was no use exploring it.

Well, that was what Ellie kept telling herself as she sidled next to Aster while they headed back inside the gym to grab more drinks. And then she sidled next to Aster to greet more people who'd jokingly cursed Aster out for being late. And then she sidled next to Aster as she hugged Paul and felt a twinge of sourness in her own chest. And then she sidled next to Aster when they exited the gym again to wander the hallways, alone.

Nope, leave that jar of warms closed, Ellie.

"I read your book," Aster announced as they rounded a corner and headed to the east wing.

Crap. Ellie blinked and shoved her hands in her pockets again as she looked up at Aster, trying her very best to keep her eyes away from those lips. "Oh yeah?" she said, sounding as nonchalant as she could manage.

"Never would have pegged you for a romance writer though," Aster said with a nod, tongue poking out the edge of her lips. "But then again, you did write those letters," she added with a teasing laugh again.

The writer blushed, but other than that, she kept walking, her hands kept in her pockets. "Well, I saw some of your art showings." Aster made a noise of surprise, her brows raised. "Yeah, you're never there when I'm there." After the third time of being at a showing without Aster there, Ellie had stopped wondering and decided that it meant something – a signifier of the supposed end of their traces in each other's journey. She didn't say that, of course. She just said, "Never would have pegged you for an erotic artist though."

Aster barked out a giggle and argued, "It's called a specialization in the abstract of the female form, thank you very much."

"Guess you're sure now, huh?"

Ellie hadn't been completely ignorant or forgetful. Aster was a bleep on her radar that would never stop beeping, it seemed, despite the distance between the two of them. While she hadn't stayed in touch with Aster – she couldn't – Paul had, and he had been very helpful in updating her on Aster's life, like her girlfriends and boyfriends and art shows.

With a nod, the artist winked at the writer and tilted her head. "Took me less than a year, surprisingly."

"Always knew you had it in you."

"Remember when you said you'd see me in a couple of years?"

They'd already stopped their wandering, having wandered into the English classroom that Ellie couldn't think belonged to anyone except Mrs. Geselschap – she wanted that woman to live forever to sneer at the stupidity in her students. Ellie was leaning against her desk; Aster had taken a seat at hers.

It was dark, but the moonlight did marvels in this condition, emphasizing the lightness in Aster's eyes and the ambiguity that she seemed to always carry with her. However, while the ambiguity was stark in posture, her eyes were nothing ambiguous. The opposite, actually.

Ellie smiled.

"You wanna get out of here?"

* * *

One night in an autumn Squahamish in 2025, Ellie Chu had sex with Aster Flores. Well, it wasn't _sex_ , per se. A teenage Ellie would have scoffed at her cheesiness and smashed a taco sausage in her face, but it was _lovemaking_. They rented out a hotel room so as not to disturb either of their parents and had a phenomenal night.

And thus, Ellie Chu's life was knocked off course again. Much like that time she was knocked into in a random hallway while on the phone with the electric company.

That was five years ago, yes, and now, here she was. Standing in front of JTT at Lower East Side of New York, dressed in a suit picked out by the very best, Paul Munsky. Look, college might have improved her fashion sense, but college could only go so far.

Normally, a place like JTT would probably warrant a visit to something like a tailor – and it wasn't like Ellie couldn't afford it, since she published another book and that turned out to be a bigger bestseller than her previous one. But this time around, she figured a suit picked out in a thrift store would best suit the occasion.

Unlike previously, she wasn't just a random face in the crowd – she was a writer, not a celebrity, alright. This time, she didn't even need an invite; all she needed to do was let her plus one escort her to the limo and step out onto the red carpet. And the cameras automatically flashed in her face like wild coyotes.

God, she was already hating this part.

"Ellie Chu!" Paul howled in her ear amidst the hustle and bustle of an art show opening, effectively snapping out her heart pounding reverie and extinguishing the urges to get back in the limo and get the hell out of dodge. She would never stop being grateful to him. "Wow, we're like a power couple," he said, grinning enthusiastically at the photographers, journalists, and occasional paparazzi.

"Don't let your girlfriend hear you say that," she replied and placed her arm in the hook of his elbow.

"Oh, like she'd mind." They walked down the red carpet, stopping in front of certain brands to take certain sponsorship photos. She felt like her face had frozen over at some point. "She told me to remember to buy one of the arts."

"Because of the artist?"

"And the writer."

Her heart warmed over. Not so nervous anymore. She didn't take any questions – they weren't her forte, though she definitely appreciated these people's dedications to their jobs. The world would stop spinning without them. As she made her way to enter the building with Paul, she heard a journalist from CNN speak into his microphone.

"This is, perhaps, the first time such a prolific pair of writer and artist in their respective fields have come together to collaborate on an art showing. We've been told that each piece of art's accompanied with its own literary narrative, and inside this gallery, is a full journey of a novel itself. But bear in mind, this is not a graphic novel. It's an immersive storytelling experience, all in one night."

Okay, yeah, the nerves were back.

...

The artist herself was not present. Then again, neither was the writer. They'd both been escorted their own dressing rooms for makeup replenishment and prepare for their appearance on the small podium in just five minutes. Honestly, she never would have thought that an art showing could be such a huge thing. Then again, she couldn't recall an art showing much like this.

What was it the CNN person had called it? An _immersive storytelling experience_. She certainly didn't think of that when she first came across the project. The truth was she was pretty fucking whipped when she came across this project, so she kind of didn't care about the weight of the whole thing until she was here in real life. For fuck's sake, she'd never been comfortable in front of cameras, despite her reputation as one of the most immersive lesbian storytellers in the publishing world.

What was it with journalists and the word 'immersive'?

Ellie stood just behind the curtain, rolling her eyes at Paul's antics, which was starting to garner disapproving looks from the other attendees. He didn't care, and she loved him for it. And then the lights started dimming, and the announcer called the writer and the artist's names for them to get on stage.

She took a deep breath, put on a smile, and walked up the steps of the podium, her smile turning into a more genuine one when she saw the woman climbing the steps on the other side of the podium. Soon, they met in the middle and Ellie didn't even hesitate to wrap her arm around the woman's waist. Her smile widened when she felt a kiss on her cheek and an arm wrapped around her own waist.

The lights brightened, and on a fancy banner hanging from the ceiling read: _The Greek Love Story – a collaboration between Ellie Chu and Aster Flores_.

" _This_ is the boldest stroke I can make," Aster whispered into her ear.

The remark was so unexpected and explosive that Ellie burst out into laughter, right on the podium and in front of audiences still waiting for their speeches. Screw the speeches; she extended her other arm to lock Aster in her embrace, and proceeded to kiss her wife, like that time she kissed her outside of a deli in the middle of a crossroad.

**Author's Note:**

> BRB REWATCHING THE HALF OF IT
> 
> oh, and i like [coffee](https://cyclothimic.tumblr.com/post/611650626423816192/a-struggling-writers-tale), if you catch my drift, or you can catch me on [embettah](https://twitter.com/embettah).


End file.
